


They Can't Take That Away From Me

by Aladin_Sane



Category: Baby Driver (2017)
Genre: Established Relationship, Kidnapping, M/M, Psychological Torture, Torture, Violence, this is just sad tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 18:29:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11446578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aladin_Sane/pseuds/Aladin_Sane
Summary: Baby and Buddy have a newfound love for Frank Sinatra, and one of Doc's rivals thinks that it's the perfect song for the situation.





	They Can't Take That Away From Me

**Author's Note:**

> So they play this song at my work literally all the time, and I always imagine a scene like this going down so now I'm finally going to write it. Also, listen to the song maybe before you read? And/or maybe after? It's "They Can't Take That Away From Me" by Frank Sinatra (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RMBKYPb49l8)
> 
> Also, I've got a few days off here, so I'm gonna aim for three fics a day and we'll see what happens with that? As long as I don't lose inspiration I'm hoping we'll be alright. 
> 
> Hit me with those requests, yo.

Buddy decided that it was time for Baby to move in after things just kept going wrong at the apartment building. 

It had started one night, just as Buddy was about to sit in front of the t.v. with his sister, Darling, and crack open a beer or a line. His phone rang out the opening to Brighton Rock and he answered immediately. "Ain't it past your bed time, Baby?" 

"Sorry."

Buddy turned away from Darling so she wouldn't see him smile into the phone. "Don't worry about it. What's going on?" 

"I'm bored." 

Well, that got Buddy's attention. "Oh, yeah? Maybe I can help with that?"

"That's why I called."

"So, give me something to work with. What are you wearing?"

"Not that kind of bored!" Baby's blush was palpable through the phone lines. "I, uh, I'm stuck in the elevator to my apartment. And my ipod's dead."

"Oh, shit! Is the fire department on their way? Or the security officer?" 

"No."

Buddy sighed slowly. "Why not, Baby? Why didn't you call them?"

"It's my fault, anyways. I know the elevator shuts down at 8 o'clock, I should have taken the stairs. I thought I could make it to my floor first though. Besides, it starts up again at 6 am."

Buddy checked his watch. It was nearly eleven. "So you're telling me that you've been stuck in an elevator since eight o'clock? And that you didn't call anybody?" 

"Yes." 

"I'm coming over." 

He'd bullied a security guard into turning the elevators back on just long enough for Baby to get out safely, but that hadn't been the end of it. One morning, Baby showed up at his house with the ass crack of dawn, asking to shower. Buddy called Baby's landlord when Baby admitted that they hadn't had running water for a few days. Then Buddy had watched him go through ipods like a butcher went through pigs, saying the outlets stopped working and he couldn't keep them all charged anymore. 

Then Baby showed up at 2am with an old cooler full of food because their electricity was out, and could Buddy just please keep these in his fridge until it came back? Buddy put his foot down. Baby had to move in with him and Darling. 

Buddy had fallen in love the first night Baby was there. The sound of quiet saxophones kept him up until he gave up on trying to sleep. With frustration growing in his belly, he stalked the halls with the intention of telling Baby to turn that shit off and go to bed. The door to Baby's new room was cracked just slightly, a stream of light the only thing illuminating the hallway. 

He pushed open the door and stopped right in his tracks. Baby was twirling and spinning with reckless abandon, yet unaware of Buddy's presence. Buddy had never cared about the fine arts or whatever, but he thought Baby looked like a ballerina in that dimly lit bedroom. The anger melted out of him when Baby spun on his toes and stopped with one foot pointed towards his knee and both his arms raised over his head. 

He kicked one leg out, gaining moment to spin out of the pose gracefully. That was when he noticed Buddy standing in the doorway. His foot hit against the wooden bedroom with a loud smack, his supporting leg slipped out from under him and he landed disconnectedly on the bed. Embarrassment had turned him into a klutz. 

"Damn, I was really enjoying the show," Buddy drawled. 

Baby's face turned bright red as he rubbed his injured foot. "Sorry. Is it loud? I'm not keeping everyone up, am I?" He limped across the room to turn off the speakers, but Buddy stopped him with a firm push that landed him back on the bed. 

"Nah, it's fine. My room's just connected through the vents. Monica can't hear it, otherwise she'd be down here already. And Joe, well..." Buddy cut himself off and shrugged. "What're you listening to?" 

"Frank Sinatra. The Way You Look Tonight." 

"Yeah? Pretty cutsey song. You in love or something?" Buddy laughed when Baby looked away and turned bright red. "Is it that waitress?" 

"No."

"Don't lie to me, Baby. She's cute, isn't she? It seems like she likes you too. You should make your move."

"No, no, it isn't her."

"Well, then who is it?" 

There was a long pause as the song crescendo-ed to a peak. "Cause I love you," Baby blurted out along with the lyrics. He realized what he did immediately and trained his eyes on the hardwood floor. 

"Sorry. I just like the song." Bats was right, Baby was a shitty liar. 

Buddy gently wrapped his arm around Baby's waist, and pulled him closer. He waited until he got a soft nod before closing the gap between them. The kiss was quick, just enough to establish a connection and break it. 

That night, Buddy had never felt so warm inside. A stark contrast to the cold concrete room he was in now. There were so many ropes holding him to the metal chair that he could barely move. Which was for the benefit of the group of men surrounding him. 

Baby was tied to a chair across from him, one earbud in and a quiet look of fear in his eyes. That alone made Buddy wanna start throwing punches. The blood trickling out of Baby's nose made him want to kill somebody. 

One man, the one who looked like he was in charge, ran his hand over Baby's chest. 

"Don't you fucking touch him!" Buddy snapped, straining against the ropes. 

He looked at Buddy and laughed. "I just wanna see what he's listening to." He pulled the ipod out of Baby's pocket and laughed. "Frank Sinatra. This could be a good one." He pulled the earbuds out of Baby's ear and plugged the ipod into the old speakers in the back of the room. 

"Since Doc refused to do business with us last week, we're gonna kill his Baby. Take good notes, I'm sure he'll want all the details." The man smiled at Baby's flailing against the ropes before pressing play on the ipod. 

It started with a long slide of saxophone, and when the drum kicked in the man's fist connected with Baby's face. He walked around Baby slowly before landing a punch to the gut that made Baby look like he was going to throw up. 

The image of Baby sitting at the kitchen table flooded Buddy's mind. Baby smiling up at him over the rim of his coffee mug. Another hit to the face. 

"Fuck you!" Buddy was livid, the blood on Baby's face as red as his vision was turning. 

The man just sang along to the song, hefting a short bent pipe in his hand. He lined up the shot as the trumpets blared, broke Baby's knee when the vocals started again. 

"The way your smile just beams..." The lyrics continued lovingly. Buddy remembered Baby sitting on the couch, curled up under blankets and laughing at some movie with Darling. He didn't remember it well because he hadn't been able to take his eyes off of Baby for long enough to get the story.

"The way you sing off key..." Baby singing along to songs on Sunday morning drives where it was just the two of them. Buddy never had the heart to tell him that he botched a few notes, harmonizing with the ringing in his ears rather than the song. He was screaming now at the top of his lungs. 

"The way you haunt my dreams..." Waking up in the middle of the night to see Baby curled up beside him in bed. Buddy was screaming too now, his skin rubbed raw from pulling against the rope. 

The man grabbed Baby's hand and started breaking his fingers on every other drum beat. Buddy wanted to tear the world apart, he wanted to rip the man limb from limb. 

"No, no, they can't take that away from me..." 

The pipe swung again, this time clipping Baby's jaw and sending his head flying back. He leaned forward as far as his restraints would allow and spit out three stained teeth. Weakly, he lifted his head to look at Buddy. His eyes were wet with tears, and blatantly apologetic. 

"It's okay, Baby. It's all going to be okay." Buddy was lying and they both knew it. 

As Frank Sinatra voice raised in pitch on the words "memory of" the man tangled his hands in Baby's hair and lifted him back into a sitting position. It was a disgusting parallel to Buddy doing the same thing while gently pushing into Baby from behind. 

"The way you hold your knife..." Baby gesturing wildly with his silverware over dinner when Buddy took him to the most expensive place in the state. Even all dressed up in a suit, Baby stayed delightfully young and joyous. 

The pipe hit his chest. The unmistakable sound of ribs cracking sounded with the drums. 

"The way we danced 'til three..." Buddy teaching teaching Baby to slow dance to this very song in their living room. They made brief eye contact again and it was clear that Baby was living through the experiences with him. 

"The way you changed my life..." Before he met Baby, Buddy didn't really know he could be happy. He thought he was, with the drugs and the adrenaline and the hot young plaything every night. The idea of going back to a world without his Baby in it made his chest seize with fear. 

The man cut free Baby's restraints. He fell out of the chair with the slide of the trombones. That had always been his favorite part of the song. He'd glide across the hardwood floors towards Buddy with the slide, grinning ear to ear. At the last second, right before collision, he'd always twist his body into a pirouette. He was like a marionette puppet, gravity had such a weak grasp on him. 

Humming along to the instrumental part, the man continued to kick Baby's soft belly. It wasn't that long of a song, it had to be over soon. Buddy preyed Baby could make it to the end of the song. 

"We may never, never meet again..." 

"I'm gonna kill all of you! Do you hear that? And your fucking families. You're gonna wish you'd never been a twinkle in your dad's eye!" The music was blaring in Buddy's ears, a cruel taunt that refused to leave him alone. 

Baby pushed himself onto his hands and knees. Buddy wanted to yell at him to just stay down, to play dead until they got bored and left. He watched in awe as Baby patted the top of his foot, as if Buddy was the one who needed comforting. As if Buddy was the one who's breath was coming out as an ominous rattle. 

He pulled himself up so he was kneeling in front of Buddy, using his thighs to balance. "It's okay." His jaw was so swollen that the words were hardly intelligible. Buddy started crying in spite of himself. His boy, battered, bruised, and waiting for more, was trying to comfort him. 

"The way you hold your knife..." Baby was dragged away from Buddy by his hood, thrown onto his back. It was vaguely reminiscent of all the times Buddy had caught him lounging on the hood of his car and looking up at the stars. He knew the names of almost all the constellations. 

"The way we danced 'til three..." He rolled over and pushed himself up again, this time getting a boot planted into his spine as a reward. His death rattle of a cough told Buddy everything he didn't want to know. 

"No, no, they can't take that away from me..." 

"I love you, Baby." 

"Love you, Bud-" This time the pipe hit against the back of his skull and he crumpled. 

Baby's messy hair in the morning, his endless supply of cheap gas station sunglasses. How he always managed to get spaghetti sauce on his chin, how he always brushed his nose back and forth against Buddy's before kissing him. The way Baby always spread the peanut butter to the edges the way Joe liked, the way he put a bowl of ice cream in the microwave for 2 seconds for Darling because she always liked it better a little melted. 

"No, they can't take that away..."

The last time they'd showered together, Baby had brought his speakers into the bathroom. While trying to hit a particularly high note, he'd slipped on the wet tile. Buddy had just barely managed to catch him before his head cracked against the shelf, but Baby hadn't even looked worried. He was already laughing at his mistake by the time Buddy was holding him securely. The scene played over and over again in his head. 

Baby was lying face down on the cement now. 

"They won't take that away..." 

"You're going to be okay, I promise. You're going to be okay!"

"'Cause they can't take that away..." 

The man dropped the pipe on the ground. It sounded twice, once when each end landed, at exactly the same time as the trombones played over the speakers. 

"From me..."

"Baby? Baby!" 

Buddy's screams of his name drew out the word, harmonizing with Sinatra's last sustained note. 

They lights clicked off right as the music cut out.


End file.
